The Threat
by I Dont Know What Im Doing
Summary: Sherlock doesn't take to losing at trivia very well, he never does. In return John makes The Threat, "One more complaint and you're sleeping on the couch for a week." But decides to have a bit of fun trying to get just one more complaint out of him. JohnLock Rated M for Smut. Slash/Humor.


**These are continuing characterizations of John and Sherlock from other stories of mine but it's a stand alone one-shot.  
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**Warning for Smut**

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John lifted his eyes up from the laptop, checking to see if Sherlock was still glaring at him.

Oh yeah, still glaring.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Thinly pressed lips made it clear, the detective planned on keeping _this_ up until John revoked The Threat.

Sitting rigid on the couch, arms crossed tight over his chest, long legs propped up on the coffee table; Sherlock had barely moved for the past forty minutes, he hadn't spoken for longer.

John made another go at it, "You're going to have to talk eventually."

Only The Glare.

Shaking his head, John went back his to game of solitaire and tried to think of another way to get the stubborn man to talk.

Not that Sherlock was giving him the silent treatment, oh no, because that wouldn't nearly be as childish. This was plain and simple stubbornness.

And exactly what he should have expected from Sherlock when he made The Threat.

But really, it had to be done. Sherlock's tantrums whenever he lost Trivia Pursuit were getting ridiculous. His most recent the worst yet, and John might have gotten a little fed up, just a little.

_'Not one more god damn word about it Sherlock. I don't want to hear one more bloody complaint about losing, one more bloody complaint about how stupid the game is or how sodding moronic the people are who came up with the questions, and not one more bitchy word about that damn movie, you get me?' _Of course he didn't, Sherlock's mouth had opened, one more word ready to spew out but John cut him off with The Threat, _'One! Just one, and you're sleeping on the couch for a week. And don't think I'm bluffing. I'll kick your sweet ass out of the bed, I will.'_

Ohhh he didn't like that one bit, not one bit. Plopping on couch, Sherlock crossed his arms and started The Glare, every once in a while giving a huff or a grunt, but not a single word. If the man born to complain wasn't allowed to complain, he wasn't going to say a damned word. Stubborn, plain and simple.

And after an hour of him staring and fuming and glaring, determined to annoy John enough for him the lift the ban on complaining, well John might have gotten a bit more fed up. Might as well annoy the stubborn fool right back and see if he could figure out just what button to push to get a rise out of him, maybe even goad his lovely partner into complaining himself right to sleeping on the couch.

John sat back in his chair, crossing his arms mocking Sherlock's stance. Sherlock gave him a little smirk at this, then went right back to his menacing stare.

"Don't know why you keep insisting on playing that game when this happens every time." This only got him a grunt of displeasure.

"Not my fault you can't answer any of the Entertainment questions." The corner of Sherlock's lip twitched.

"Just accept that you lost and get over it." Ah that was definitely a growl, he was getting somewhere now. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, The Glare now tossing threats of bodily harm.

Taunting him about losing, maybe that would do it. Sherlock had been adamant that he hadn't _technically_ lost, making sure to repeatedly point out that since he'd tossed the rules into the fireplace the last time they played, John couldn't look them up and officially declare himself winner.

With those unwavering eyes on him, John didn't pretend to look at his laptop, to be reading anything on the screen or pretend not to be completely making shit up, still sitting back he grinned. "Oh looky here. I found the rules online. Says 'if a player makes an attempt to throw the playing board out a window because he's a huge twat, forgetting said window is in fact closed, said twat forfeits the game'. See, you lost. It's in the rules."

The sound that came out of him was one John had never heard. A strange squeak of agony and thrill. Sherlock's eyes looked pained and his lips pressed so tight together they were losing color.

So close, so close but almost immediately Sherlock composed himself returning to fuming. But what was that, there was the smallest, tiniest, barest hint of smile on his lips. Oh his lovely detective enjoyed that didn't he, enjoyed John almost making him slip up.

Apparently he wasn't the only one having a bit of fun at John's attempt to outwit him into complaining. This took on an interesting turn, because everyone living in 221B Baker Street, all two of them, knew just what happens when he outwits his clever detective.

Okay, he could do this, he could out think him. Just needed to find his Achilles' heel, the perfect taunt to make that delightful mouth pop open and snap out a complaint before he could contain it.

Teasing about the complaining did nothing. Same with the not-talking. Mentioning how this happens every time they play that stupid game only got him a grunt. He had gotten a rise about his poor sportsmanship, which was terribly poor and unfortunate for the innocent playing board, but Sherlock would be prepared now if he tried it again.

Neither of them had taken their eye off the other while John worked it out and the noticeable shine in those pale eyes made it evident Sherlock was enjoying John trying to unravel him.

There had to be something that would get him to break, something about the losing as that was the only taunt to get any reaction. He only lost, every damn time, because of the Entertainment questions. The brilliant man had yet to get one right in all their games. But this game, this one they never finished, John hadn't actually won because Sherlock flipped his shit at that last question, the question which sent him over, which just happened to be about….oh it was so obvious.

As the idea hit him, The Glare finally broke. That tiny, barest hint of a smile was not very tiny anymore, growing as John discovered just the right button to push. Sherlock, still not speaking, threw out his own taunt with his now wide smile. _Have at it._

"Really, you can't blame them for putting that question in the game."

Sherlock only smiled._ Go on_.

"You do realize just about every person on this planet has seen that movie?"

His smile wavered briefly, one hand balled into a fist.

"Seriously Sherlock, Titanic is one of the most popular movies ever made. Of course they're going to include a question about it."

Both hands now tight fists and Sherlock bit down on his lip, but the smile was reaching his eyes.

John beamed back at him, "I just don't understand why you hate it so much…" Oh he knew, he knew exactly why Sherlock thought it was an abomination. "It's so wonderfully romantic…"

Sherlock was biting his lip so hard he was going to draw blood soon.

"…and now I'm in the mood to watch it."

The same little noise from before, a combination of agony and thrill, escaped his lips. The agony of all those bottled up complaints about how that movie should burn in hell for turning such a 'scientifically significant maritime accident into a unrealistic romantic farce' as he tended to explain. And a thrill for John knowing just how to rile him up.

John stood, walking to the door. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson won't mind us borrowing it again."

Two steps, that's as far as he got, two steps before Sherlock snapped, "Don't you dare play that revolting movie in this flat." Quickly a hand clamped over his mouth but it was too late.

John busted out laughing watching Sherlock's eyes bug out.

Lowering his hand Sherlock whined, "That doesn't count."

"Oh yes it does."

Instead of heading to the door, John went to the couch to sit next to his not all glaring partner, The Glare gone replaced by that lusty look which always followed when John was able to outsmart the smartarse.

Patting the sofa between them, John reminded him, "A week."

Sherlock crawled his delightful body up John's, pushing him back to lay atop of him. "You're not really going to make me sleep on the couch are you?"

"You deserve it you whiny git."

Sherlock pushed his hips into him, rubbing his growing erection against John's also growing one. "A whole week, you sure?"

Wrapping his arms around Sherlock, John pushed up against him, pressing, grinding into him. "Ah god…yes the whole damn week."

Once tightly fisted hands were now soft, relaxed, tugging out John's shirt from his jeans, snaking up his bare skin. "Are you sure you want me sleeping out here all alone?"

Moving both his hands to that sweet arse, John bucked up causing Sherlock to groan into his neck. "Never said you had to sleep out here alone."

Leaning up, Sherlock stared into his eyes looking for signs of more taunts, more teasing. John stared back letting him know he was completely serious, well as serious as one could be breathing fast, gripping Sherlock's arse, rubbing their cocks together. He had been completely serious about making the whiny fool sleep on the couch, but had fully intended on joining him, there was no possible way he could go a week in bed without him. And the genius had been too busy fuming to ever suspect.

Being able to outwit the detective gets him quite worked up, being able to surprising him, well that turns him into a bit of an animal. His lustful eyes went wild. "Oh John!"

Not wasting one more minute, having spent far too many minutes being a silent stubborn brat, Sherlock tore at his shirt in such a haste a few buttons popped. And John didn't waste any minutes complaining about popped buttons, making quick work of Sherlock's trousers.

And it was a good thing said window was still closed when Sherlock tossed John's jean away.

Once their clothing littered the floor next to Trivia Pursuit plastic pie pieces still scattered across the room, Sherlock pulled John up so he was sitting and god damn he slid his body down off the couch to kneel right between his legs, spreading them apart.

Looking up at him, there was no trace of that glare, just wild, needy, eager eyes. John groaned at the sight of them. And groaned louder when Sherlock moved his hand to John's also needy eager cock, gripping him while he licked at his lips.

His body shuddered when Sherlock suddenly dove in, moving his head between John's splayed out legs, running his tongue from the base of his cock to the tip in one long lick.

"Oh god..."

Still not wasting any more precious minutes causing John's hips to pump forward, moaning and gasping, Sherlock took his erection deep into his mouth.

"Sherlock…Fuck."

John hands shot to the back of Sherlock's head, gripping, clutching at thick dark curls, while Sherlock took him fully in.

A surprised, tricked, pleased, wild Sherlock was indeed a beast, greedily sucking him down, making carnal sounds, ravenous sounds, as he worked John's cock in and out of his mouth.

John's hips pumped up each time Sherlock took him deep, moaning, "fuck...oh fuck," each time that mouth enveloped him completely.

Gripping hair tighter, struggle for breath, John could feel his orgasm building fast, Sherlock's pure lust at devouring his cock was driving him closer and closer. God his tongue, swirling and sliding the length of him while Sherlock bobbed his head up and down. "Oh god, Sherlock."

With his now dark dilated eyes watching him, Sherlock brought him right to the edge and just before he peaked, slid his cock out and squeezed the base just enough to hold his orgasm back.

"Ahh…god." His entire body jolted at the sudden denial.

And just as suddenly as he was denied release, Sherlock climbed up on couch straddling him, still gripping the base of his cock, positioning himself above.

Wild, carnal Sherlock, was indeed wild; sliding down and impaling himself on John's spit slick cock in one sharp move. Forcing John into him, crying out in ecstasy at the pain and pleasure of John being inside him so savagely.

John was just as undone, groaning as he entered Sherlock. Grabbing his arse, John thrust up, driving his cock deeper into Sherlock, causing him to fall forward into him, lips meeting his neck, biting sharp into his soft flesh.

"Oh god…oh fuck." His own mixture of pleasure and pain washed through him, John dug his nails into those hips and pumped into him faster.

His wild Sherlock, all need, want. Needing to have him, wanting to give him, losing himself in John. There was no better motivation to trick and outwit his lover.

Sherlock body rocked hard against him as John thrust up faster. Both gasping and sweating and thrashing against each other. Sherlock's own erection pressed hard between them, leaking precum on both their skin.

Wild, throwing himself back so abruptly John had to slide hands up Sherlock's arched back to keep him from falling all the way back.

"John…oh god John."

Sherlock arched back further, writhing, bucking up and down. Jesus fuck wild Sherlock was amazing. John drove into him harder and cried louder as fingernails scratching down his chest, the punishment on his flesh burned exquisitely. And he scratched all the was down, down until he reached his own cock.

"John..." Fisting his erection, Sherlock stroked himself, pumping his cock fast as John slammed up into him harder.

Sherlock was reaching that state, the pure wild, debauched, animalistic state that just the look of it could send John over. Pure sensation, mind gone, lost in the moment, Sherlock looked like a touch of heaven. Savage eyes stared at him, his pale body flushed, calling out, "John…oh John" again and again.

"Sherlock…god yes." That sight of him, his body driving John's cock into him, there was no way to make this last. John's orgasm felt like it hit every part of his body.

As his cock pulsed inside Sherlock he only saw white, and only hear the sound of his name repeatedly hollered as Sherlock stroked himself to his own release, and only felt the warmth of Sherlock shooting out on his chest and the waves of pleasure coursing through his own body.

And when he could see again, he saw his wild love now blushing that glorious blush that only showed when Sherlock came back from losing himself so completely.

Both their legs were trembling so John pulling him back up, pulling them tight together and held him while they calmed, caught their breath.

Kissing at his bite marks on his neck, Sherlock mumbled, "So one week huh?"

With a much lighter tug of Sherlock's hair, John lifted his head to enjoy that beautifully blushing face.

"One week, but I doubt we will be getting much sleep."

...

One week, two bodies trying to get comfortable on one small couch, there was definitely not a whole hell of a lot of sleeping. And at the end there was one Trivia Pursuit board stabbed into the wall above the couch as a constant reminder of that one long, very talkative, complete lack of glaring, wonderful week.

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**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.  
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